


Tumbling Like Tinsel Strings

by Desireex17



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst, Anorexia, Anorexia Nervosa, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, College, College AU, Cutting, Depression, F/M, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Long Distance Relationship, M/M, Non face-to-face, Self Harm, Smoking, Smut, Starvation, Texting, Tumblr, coffee shop AU, smut is always necessary, uni - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:35:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desireex17/pseuds/Desireex17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis was fine. At least, the more he told himself he was the more he believed he was. He was just a little insane and chose to blog about it. He never needed help, as far as he believed. And all is fine in Louis's "fine" world until help comes his way with a side order of Harry Styles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. T

Louis was never popular on tumblr, so he didn’t really think twice before putting his cell phone number in a text post. And he made that post two hours ago so it was already drowning in his archive, somewhere lost. He only had some short of 10k followers, and sure, it was a lot, but when your followers are about as active as a seventy year old’s sex life, he didn’t really see any signs of worry about his personal information being out there. 

So, Louis may or may not have been addicted to tumblr since he started his sixth form, and it may or may not have been considered the downfall of his social life, not that he really cared. He liked the fact that he had more friends on his blog than he did in his school. In school he had Zayn, and sometimes he had Liam, but that was about it, and he was okay with that. He was especially okay with that because now it was summer, and he was getting ready for uni and scraping to pay his rent, and he didn’t have much time for anything more than his two friends, and tumblr, of course tumblr. 

Just as Louis hit post limit for the third time this week, Zayn came striding into his apartment, and Louis wasn’t sure whether to be happy or pissed that he gave Zayn his spare key. 

“What are you doing there, Lou?” Zayn sat on his bed, and Louis would’ve been fine with it if it wasn’t for the fact that his tumblr was still up. 

“Nothing now,” Louis groaned, trying to make it look as casual as possible that he was rapidly trying to close out his blog. When his laptop finally decided to comply and exit the tab he looked over at Zayn with a tight smile. “What did you have in mind, or did you just intrude on my home because you could?” 

Zayn twirled the key around his finger and smirked, like he knew how much the key pissed Louis off, and he probably did, because Zayn could read Louis like an open book without even trying. “My AC broke, and it’s too damn hot to not go outside, so I’ve decided that we’re going skating, so get up, and for fucks sake how are you still in your pyjamas, it’s four in the afternoon.” Zayn pulled Louis up and Louis tried not to flinch at his grip, he really did, but everything hurt. Nevertheless, he only wanted to make Zayn happy, he lived to please, so he nodded and shooed Zayn out of the apartment so he could get ready. 

Despite the sweltering heat, Louis pulled his favourite jumper over his head, because at this point he had no other choice. He used to be able to hide his cuts just with a few bracelets, but time went on and things changed. Things always changed, and Zayn became accustomed to Louis’s long sleeves and jean shorts in the summer, and never asked because Louis would’ve told him if he wanted to. Zayn also became accustomed to Louis gripping onto him every time he stood up, of the gap between his knees that wasn’t there before, and the thinning of his hair that came with the dullness that had settled in his eyes, but Zayn never asked, because Louis told him not to worry. 

Walking outside was nothing but the gust of heat you get when you open up an oven, and automatically Louis considered locking himself back up in his apartment and going on tumblr but “oh right, post limit,” and Zayn would’ve just dragged him back out anyways. There was a skate park directly outside of their complex, but Zayn always insisted on going to the one three blocks down, and Louis always followed, he just wanted to see Zayn happy. So finally, when Louis reached the skate park, all achy knees and sweaty arms and stars behind his eyes, his phone vibrated, and he thanked the god he didn’t believe him for giving him a reason to sit down on the curb. 

It was an unknown number though, and it made Louis uneasy as he read “Hi Louis (:” because nothing about the number looked familiar and how the hell did they know his name. Louis looked around, half expectant of a stalker to start running towards him with a knife, but the only thing he considered threatening were the chavs’ sweat suits.

He looked down at the screen again, rereading the two word text before responding “Who are you.” Louis just wanted to know who this was so he could stop worrying. It was almost instantly that the stranger texted back, and Louis felt some sort of comfort in that, until he read the message. 

“A new friend. I’m Harry.” 

Louis felt his skin crawl, he felt like a charity case, yet he sugar coated over all of the comebacks that danced on his tongue. He lived to please. 

“Hi Harry (: erm how did you get my number?” 

And before Louis could read the response, Zayn was giving him the “You’re being a dick” look and he pocketed his phone before skating over to Zayn, all achy knees and sweaty arms and stars behind his eyes and Harry. 

When Zayn and Louis finally got back home it was half an hour until midnight, which translated to half an hour until Louis could start posting again and Harry was nearly forgotten until he realized that he had three messages from the poor kid. 

“I got it off tumblr, that post that you made?”  
“Should I have not have texted you? Fuck, I’m sorry I just figured..”  
“I don’t mean to annoy you I just care about you, and you deserve to smile, I just want to help.” 

Louis read each one about thirty times, a twisting in his gut that couldn’t be blamed on his hunger formed and Louis just wanted to push Harry away. He doesn’t deserve to be smile, people shouldn’t care, he doesn’t need help, he’s fucking fine. Louis was as fine as long as he told himself he was, Louis was fine as long as he wasn’t going to off himself. In Louis’s mind what would a few cuts do, what would a few times throwing up do, what would starving do, they were petty acts, he wasn’t putting his life at risk, he was fine as long as he wasn’t putting his life at risk. But, being Louis, he took all the sugar coats he could and glossed over anything he wanted to say. He lived to please. 

“Sorry, mate! I was out skating. So, no, you’re fine I don’t mind you texting me. New friends are fun :)” 

Louis quickly reminded himself to dig up and delete that post as soon as he got out of the shower, before more people like Harry decided to play superman. 

Louis used to love showers, and he dwells on that for most of the time that he lets the water crawl slick over his skin. The rest of the time is spent hating his body as he looks down to get the shampoo out of his hair, and critiquing his every action of the day as lets the water drip over his eyes, and then hating himself more when he runs soap over his stomach and his thighs and his chest and his arms and everywhere that Louis hated. It was easy to hate himself, Louis didn’t see why most other people didn’t. It was easy to hate his body when he has his fingers laced through fat rolls, expelling the contents of his stomach. It was easy to hate himself when he’s up at three in the morning staring at the ceiling, alone in a too-hot apartment. It was easy to hate himself when he reads his mothers contact in his phone. It was easy to hate himself when his fingers traced over the scars on his arms. But it was easy, and easy was the only thing that he was motivated to do. 

By the time he was out of the shower it was midnight, and midnight meant posting again, and another text from Harry. 

“New friends are fun, yeah. How are you Lou?” 

Louis inwardly groaned, those four words we’re a trap. Always a trap. 

“I’m fine, you?” 

He sent the text before opening his dash, scrolling down his archive to delete the post before he started blogging again. 

His blog wasn’t exactly as sane as he intended. Which drew all sorts of attention from the “it gets better group” which cluttered half of his followers list and a majority of his ask box. He knew they meant well, but the “it gets better”, “smile, you’re important,” got redundant and annoying after about two hours. His blog was simply the confines of his head expressed in black and white movie quotes and stupid personal text posts. By now Harry had texted back and Louis dreaded it, he didn’t want a lecture, he didn’t want a “tell me your everything,” he just wanted a friend. 

“Louis, I know you’re not fine, but I’m not going to pry. I just want you to know I’m here for you when you want to talk. And I’ll be there for you after you tell me. And if you never tell me, I don’t mind, I just want to help.” 

And Louis found himself smiling at that, full on smiling before he realized he didn’t even text back, but he couldn’t even figure out what to say. He wanted a thousand thankyous, but at the same time he wanted to send back a whole rant on how fine he was, how he didn’t need Harry’s sympathy. But he only lived to please. 

“Thanks Harry, it really does mean a lot, you’re such a sweetheart.” 

To be fair, Harry wasn’t like the other’s, in all cliche rom-com stereotypes of that. All the others just asked if he was fine, told him to smile, told him to throw out his razors, told him to tell them what was wrong, all behind a grey face and an ask box. Harry was different, even if just by a bit, he stood out. So Louis could at least be nice to him. 

Louis’ stomach growled, and his eyes shot down to glare at it, in his way of telling it to shut up, and just as Louis finally thought it had subsided, it hit him. The hunger pains. The full fledged, dizzy headed stomach pains that one can get after going seventy some hours of not eating. His apartment was a studio layout, the kitchen diagonal from his bed, but all Louis saw was caution tape. He sort of wished he settled for an apartment with a bedroom door so he could lock himself in his room at night, ignore the food stampede that hid in the cabinets, but money wasn’t exactly his strong suit. 

Without even hesitating, Louis scrolled back up to the top of his blog, hitting the Text Post button and watching the window drop down. 

I’d rather have my stomach uppercutted with a dull butcher’s knife than face hunger pains right now. 

And even though the post was considered personal, it still got fifty notes within the first five minutes. Not that Louis cared much, considering all that was on his mind was: “food, calories, food, calories, food, calories, food, calories.” 

It wasn’t even ten minutes and Harry had sent him a text. 

“Louis, will you eat. Please?” 

And as if he wanted to eat, let alone do it for Harry. He didn’t want food, he didn’t need food, he just wished the hunger pains weren’t so distracting. He didn’t mind them much other than that, he could handle them. 

“Harry, I can’t. I’m sorry.” He typed back before throwing himself against his pillow with a huff. Eating simply wasn’t an option. That was final. 

“You can eat, Louis, I know you can.”

Something about the text made his blood boil, his hands shaking as he pounded back a response. 

“For fucks sake Harry it isn’t that simple. I can’t just walk into the kitchen and grab a slice of cake and leave it at that. Fuck, there isn’t even food in my kitchen, unless you want to count lemons and almonds. Eating isn’t worth the fucking anxiety. I can’t eat without freaking the fuck out and if you really think I’m going to go through that pain because you told me to then rethink your motives. I don’t need to be saved, I don’t need to eat. And as a matter of fact, I’m still a healthy weight, so hop off.” 

Louis had half the mind to throw the phone across the room, he hated Harry, he didn’t need help. He wasn’t lying though, he was still somewhat a healthy weight, at 119 he had a bmi of 18.6. He was almost underweight, but the risk didn’t stop him. When ten minutes passed and Harry didn’t text back the guilt started settling in. He always had a bad temper, he should’ve warned Harry, or have been nicer, taken his anger out on himself versus Harry. He checked the messages again, the text popping up on the screen only to mock him. Agitating him until he caved in. 

“Look, I didn’t mean to piss you off. Just, I don’t need someone molly coddling me. I’m fine really, it’s just eating isn’t that simple, not for me. I’m sorry.” 

He scrolled through tumblr a bit, the texts still not being read, his mind was running a mile a minute, and the hunger pains like waves crashing against a shore. He needed it all to stop, he needed some sort of vent. He scrolled again to the top of his dashboard and opened the text post window, his fingers hovering the keys trying to find the words to express whatever the fuck he was feeling. But then Harry will see it and be even more offended, or start molly coddling again. You don’t want to do that. You can’t hurt him, he didn’t ruin your life you ruined your own life. You can’t take your anger out on him. This is your fault. Why vent when you know he can see it? 

And then it hit him.

Tumblr wasn’t safe anymore.

It shouldn’t’ve have been as dramatic as it was, but the thought made his chest tighten and his skin prickle. Now, every post that he made would be seen by Harry, and Harry would address him about it. It was why Louis had kept his account from Zayn and Liam, especially Liam. Liam would suffocate him, stock his fridge every night, force feed him. And Zayn would blame himself. Liam would take him to the hospital and get rid of every sharp object within a ten mile radius of him. And Zayn would blame himself. 

And that was the last thing Louis wanted to do. So, for the past two years his tumblr was a secret to everyone around him, and he had to be the idiot to post his number on there. And Harry had to be the one to find it. 

He felt his back cracking from the weight on his shoulders, he felt his muscles stiffen and his blood run cold, he felt the white noise in his brain and the contracting of his stomach, he never felt his hand reach for the razor and drag across the skin, and he didn’t feel the pain afterwards. 

Too drained to even want to blog, Louis shut off his computer and stared up at the ceiling. His thoughts buzzing through his head but not being registered until he finally fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING! Read at your own risk. 
> 
> I um, just kind of threw this chapter around, sorry Harry is sort of a back character in this one. It'll all change soon. Promise.

Louis woke up in the middle of the day to no other than Zayn jumping on his bed, the key now dangling off a chain around his neck. Louis’s first thought was to choke him with the chain until he got the key back. His second thought was about the blood stains on his sleeves.   
And either Zayn noticed and didn’t want to say anything, or was that oblivious, because the amount of blood was nearly threatening. Louis was too defeated to fight his tired eyes or his limp body to care about anything at the moment, letting Zayn jump until he was out of breath.   
“Have fun there, mate?” Louis half muted, his voice still sleep drunk. Zayn scowled over at him, pulling a cigarette out of his back pocket and lighting it up, trying in vain to ignore Louis who had his hands outstretched like a toddlers. It only took him two puffs before sighing loudly and dropping a cigarette in Louis’s hands.   
“So, what do you have on your agenda today, babe?” Zayn asked, watching the sunlight catch in the smoke.   
“I have work at six.” Lie #700,000. He actually started work at nine, there was no point in opening a bar and club at six unless you wanted family dinners and happy balloons. But, the earlier he got Zayn out of his way, the less he had to worry about bringing up the dinner question.   
“I’m telling you, mopping down the bar and doing inventory before and after club hours is pointless,” Zayn mused, referring to lie #689,945 where Louis explained why he went to work so early.   
And so maybe Louis did lie a lot, but he had reasons to lie, everything came with reason.   
“Want to go to lunch, mate?”   
And those six words made Louis froze. Everything in his stomach twisted and pulled, begging him to say yes, but his mind refused to register it. His mind was too busy falling into panic mode, an ongoing war between sanity and insanity. He needed an excuse, he needed a lie, but he had shut down for too long to decline. He gave Zayn a stiff nod and a tight smile, his hand falling underneath his jumper and grabbing his fat, pinching it hard enough for finger tipped bruises to form.   
Zayn remained unconcerned, used to the tight smiles and stiff nods. “There’s that new Italian place at the end of the street, heard the waiter was pretty hot.” he grinned, nudging at Louis’s chest with a fresh cigarette.   
Louis forced another laugh out of himself, the cackle drowning in smoke and despair, sitting up and pouting at Zayn until he left the room.   
And Louis figured his dependency to jumpers was getting overwhelming as he opened his closet and fished out his favourite red one. It was thin enough that he wouldn’t sweat, but thick enough that it wasn’t transparent. He pulled off his other one, in utter disgust at the blood and promising he would proper wash it later before catching his reflection. It was Liam’s stupid house warming gift of a full mirror that stretched from the ceiling to the floor. Liam’s whole “It’ll make the room look bigger!” theory translated to: “You’ll always be reminded how fat you are!” and it took all of his might not to punch the mirror into shatters. His arms were scarred up to his shoulders, petty tattoos he had before we’re now morphed and barely visible behind the thick cords of skin. The pouch of fat that collected at the bottom of his torso was dotted with little bruises from grabbing it all too much. He was everything that spelled trainwreck, translated into a five star smile and 700,000 lies.   
He felt his breathing get heavy, his lungs pulling up to his throat and his stomach sucking in the longer he stared at his reflection, the taste of an anxiety attack mixed with blood from biting his lip. He hated his reflection, he hated that mirror, he hated not having control. He pulled on the jumper through shaking hands and jean shorts through muted shouts before picking up his phone and bounding out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him as if closing off his demons. If only it were that easy.   
Zayn must have noticed something because he spotted light touches to Louis’s neck, something that had always calmed him, and stuck another cigarette between his lips, lighting it for him before walking down the eight flights of stairs.   
Achy knees turned into stabbing pain by the time they got to the restaurant. It was tiny and empty and reeked of garlic bread. And Louis wondered if he could get fat from smelling good things. Zayn found the closest booth and immediately searched through the menu as Louis forced himself to at least gain the courage to pick up the menu. The food was all there, though, written down with little pictures and ingredient lists and spicy adjectives to make the food look good. None of it was good. None of it was worth it. So when Zayn asked him why he wasn’t picking up his menu he glazed it over with the simpler truth.   
“I already know what I’m getting.”   
And maybe it came out colder than he expected because Zayn’s expression softened and he went back to the menu without another word. But honestly, he hated Zayn right now, and he hated himself for hating Zayn, because he hadn’t done anything. Louis’s was just stupid, his mind was stupid, his fucking two faced “eat” “don’t eat” mind. He just wanted to be normal. But he just wanted to be enough, too.   
The waiter came up, and yeah okay maybe Zayn was right because he was full on eye candy. With his blonde hair and hazel eyes and lightly stubbled chin, Louis couldn’t help hating himself more because he was so out of his league.   
Even when Louis hated Zayn, he still loved him, because while Louis’s was drooling over what could never be his, Zayn stalled, ordering Louis’s drink for him and asking pointless questions about the new restaurant. And even when Louis hated Zayn, he still loved him, because Zayn was straight as a blade and still could play Louis’s wingman/matchmaker/fake boyfriend (when he did so need one) at any given time. So Louis tried his hardest to shove the screaming voice in his head back into it’s corner and forgive Zayn for the crime of taking him to lunch.   
When the waiter came back with their drinks and garlic bread and asked for their orders Louis’s tried his hardest not to let his voice shake.   
“I’ll have um, the, erm, salad? With no croutons or dressing.” Louis mumbled, staring at the waiter’s hairline so it looked like he was making eye contact. He hated eye contact. The waiter, actually named Reece, bit his lip and nodded, scribbling down the order. He bit his lip. He bit his lip and Louis wanted to ravage him. But Reece was way out of his league.   
He decided now was the time to check his phone just so he could avert his eyes from Mr. Sex God but Harry’s name lit up the screen and Louis’s didn’t want to deal with that either. Yet, he still felt guilty for losing his shit on Harry, he should at least check the message.   
“Louis, I’m not mad at you, I just fell asleep. I know you’re not in control of how you feel, or what you say, because of all that’s going on in your head that you can’t really tame. I’m sorry that it’s not that easy for you to eat, I’m sorry I pissed you off.”   
And that was the exact moment that Louis’s pit of guilt formed into a sinkhole. Harry shouldn’t be apologizing. Harry shouldn’t care. Harry, Harry, Harry. It didn’t make sense to him.   
“Don’t apologize, you didn’t know how I would react. You have a better understanding of myself then I do, hahah.”   
Louis set his phone down and looked up at Zayn who was non-stop talking about a girl he met down at the tattoo parlor, and Louis couldn’t help but feel happy for him. Zayn was an absolute void of emotion for most of the time, Louis figured that’s why they clicked so well. Zayn never was interested in people romantically, and Louis hoped maybe this girl could change that.   
Louis should probably take a leaf out of his own book, too, considering he’s always the one preaching how love doesn’t exist. Because, it really doesn’t, he knows it. He saw two marriages crumble with ease, he watched people break up and laugh about it, he watched too many people get hurt because they invested too much of themselves in a figment of love. That’s all love was; a figment of the imagination. It was something everyone forced upon themselves to live up to Bible standards or Rom-Com movies. To Louis it was a false sense of security that when no one else would be there, at least you could count on Love to find someone that would.   
And Louis didn’t need to count on anybody to be there when he was already falling apart.  
All too soon he was being pushed back into reality, the plate slid in front of him and a wink from Reece.   
He tried his hardest to ignore the wink.   
Zayn had ordered chicken parm, and was offering it to Louis, but Louis was too busy calculating the calories of his own meal to even think about Zayn’s.   
Lettuce was a negative, so mind that.   
Grape tomatoes were seven calories, times that by the eight that were there and you have a total of fifty six calories.   
Did they really put parmesan cheese on this? Avoid all food with cheese, unless you want to get fat.   
Red onions were sixteen calories per quarter cup.   
Eat it all and you have seventy-two calories that could’ve easily been avoided, fatass.   
Eat half.   
Eat a quarter.  
Eat none.   
Louis gripped the table abruptly, the hunger pains pulling at his heart before he haphazardly started covering up the tomatoes with lettuce. It was strange how he had the calorie count of any food committed to memory. But that’s what three years of an eating disorder will get you. All the numbers and no solution.   
Ten minutes later and Louis was “finished,” due to a few secrets he had learned. The more he cut the lettuce and grinded it with the curve of his fork, the more it looked like he ate. If he let a few tomatoes “accidentally” roll off the table and onto the floor, no one would notice. And Louis animatedly talked about how much he hated red onions. The more he talked, the less he ate, and Zayn wouldn’t notice the fork that never made it to his mouth.   
It was smoke and mirrors, and Louis had it down to a science.   
Reece came back with the check, pushing it towards Louis’s way and winking again.   
Maybe he had an eye twitch.   
However, before Zayn could snatch the check away with mumbles of “I’m paying, I’m paying,” Louis saw why Reece had an obsession with winking.   
Scribbled in a fading red pen was his phone number, and a scribbled note of “I get off at four xx.”   
Louis thought all the blood in his body was going to go to his cheeks.   
Zayn must have said, “Louis has an admirer,” just a little too loudly because when Louis looked up, Reece was just about as red as he was. Louis smirked though, a new sudden confidence raking through him as he wriggled his fingers at him and punched the numbers into his phone.   
It was 3:50. Zayn had enough decency to drag them to the bench outside the restaurant, essentially forcing Louis to stay and wait for Mr. Hot Waiter. Louis even thought enough to text Harry, telling him about Reece, because that’s what friends do, right? And Harry even texted back: “Louis get the booty.” And Louis remembered why it was nice to have friends.   
At four, Zayn made an excuse that he had an appointment with a “tattoo-virgin” in half an hour and had to go. Zayn was amazing at lame excuses. At four, Louis began to second guess it. It was a set up, he was just going to laugh at him, he was just going to remind him how pathetic he is. He gripped the edge of the bench, his mind going hay-wire and his anxiety at the brink when he heard an unfamiliar voice.   
“Hey, you alright?” Reece had stepped out, the workers hat dangling off a belt loop as he let his fingertips brush the top of Louis’s head.   
Louis almost jumped out of his skin.   
“Fuck, I’m fine, you scared me,” Louis laughed easily and Reece’s features settled. He was new to Louis’s life, he was easy to fool, he’d be gone soon.   
“Oh, sorry, I’m um, Reece,” his voice was low and smooth, and there was a twinge of an Australian accent.   
“I’m Louis,” Louis said shakily, his eyes fighting in vain to rake over Reece’s body.  
“I um, have a place about ten minutes away from here, if you wanna go? We don’t have to, just, you’re cute and, yeah,” Reece stared at the ground and blushed, fucking blushed all strawberry and cherry blossom cheeks, and Louis was near happy that Reece was just as quiet as him.   
Louis nodded before he could let his self hatred change his mind and Reece took his hand to help him up. He felt bad when he gripped his hand for dear life to keep himself from falling over.   
“You sure you’re alright?” Reece never let go of his hand, the other one holding at his hip. Louis flinched. Hips were a no touch zone.   
“Yeah, ‘m fine,” Louis said casually, moving away from the hand that touch his hip, feeling his skin set fire where it was touched. “Do you ever just stand up and see stars?”   
Reece knitted his eyebrows together, not knowing what Louis was talking about, but nevertheless nodded.   
“So, tell me about yourself? If you want?” Reece was stepping on eggshells as he talked, his voice faltered from time to time, and Louis felt they were at level playing ground.   
“There isn’t much,” Louis shrugged, his easy way of cutting off any sort of walls coming down, “I came here from Doncaster, I’m about to start my first year at Uni, I work at a club. Nothing special. What’s an aussie like you doing in Manchester?”   
“I tried to escape the heat,” he said, shortly before laughing, gesturing towards the obviously-not-cold weather.   
Reece had a rather decent flat, yet to Louis anything was better than a shit house studio. It turned out Reece was twenty, he let friends live at his place but was currently alone, and the italian restaurant was one of three jobs that he worked. So, essentially, Reece had his life together.   
Louis envied that.   
It wasn’t ten minutes in Reece’s house that his lips were pressed against Louis’s. They were smooth and slightly chapped and tasted like that damned garlic bread. And even though Louis tried to focus on something more than the garlic bread, he couldn’t. Because Reece could eat garlic bread on all work hours and still be morphed into perfection.   
He wasn’t sure why he had even let Reece kiss him. He was used to his body being used, he was used to being no other than a sex toy, and even though he felt like shit after, he only lived to please.   
Pinned up against the wall, fingers laced weakly in his belt loops he let Reece kiss down his neck and kiss up his jaw and bite at his collar bone and felt none of it. His hips were on fire from Reece’s hands being too close, his stomach was fluttering with hunger. Louis just wanted to go home.   
So he could blog.   
He hooked his finger underneath Reece’s chin to pull him up and kiss him chastely.   
“Love, I have work in an hour, I should be getting home,” lying was too easy, but he figured he should at least be nice about it. Reece nodded, telling Louis to text him before ushering him out of the house with another kiss.   
It was the walk home where it hit him.   
All of the flashbacks, all of the self hatred. He was a betrayal of his own mind. His mind was steel clubs that cracked the cement that kept Louis together. He was what everyone had told him, a cock slut, a man whore, an attention greedy sex toy. And the fact that it was all true was what hurt the worst.   
By the time he made it back to his apartment he still had two and a half hours to blog. Sad music and blogging and Harry. Because yeah, he decided to text Harry. He was in that shit of a mood.   
“Do you ever just get hit with the full blown force of reality and it really fucking hurts?” he sent off, not even caring about his walls anymore, he could be an open floodgate and not care. He simply didn’t care at this point in time.   
Super Harry to the rescue texted back in record time.   
“The last time I had that was in my seventh year. You alright?”   
Louis paused his rapid-fire blogging to look at the screen, pouting slightly when he read the first part. Harry seemed nice enough, thinking about him hurting was unimagineable.   
“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking. & I’m fine, everything else isn’t. But c’est la vie.”   
“I realized I was gay.” Harry texts back and Louis nearly chokes on his water. Well, that was subtle.   
“How did your parents take it?” Was his immediate response, trying his hardest not to fit the images of his own parents in his head.   
“They don’t really care, they’re accepting. It was just one day I woke up and just, it hit me, and it kind of hurt, I sort of didn’t want to be, I didn’t want the stress.”   
Louis remembered the day he figured he was gay. Because that was the day that he decided he wanted to kiss Zayn. In a world with Zayn, you had to be blind to never have a crush on him. And Louis did, for a while, and he loves Zayn, he just loves having him as a friend too. So, back in year five when he told Zayn he wanted to kiss him, Zayn shrugged it off and let him. It was chaste and it was innocent but Louis’s lips burned like fire and his cheeks were fields of roses and Zayn poked his chest and said, “I don’t mind if you want to kiss boys. But I don’t like kissing boys. Is that okay with you?”   
And that was that. 

So Louis and Harry went on talking about Jake Bass and hot boys and easy conversation, and he decided he liked having Harry as a friend. And it was a near shock when he realized he had to leave for work.   
The attire for work was black skinny jeans and white t-shirts, Louis wore long sleeve button ups and said he liked to look professional.   
His co workers at the club were two people named Stella and Adrian, they shared the same shifts and they kissed each other in the back room, and Louis did the dirty work and they thanked him for that. They also very blatantly pointed out Louis’s hickey, poking their fingers at it and watching it turn white every time they walked passed. And at times when business was slow, Louis texted Harry, and Louis thought about Harry when he poured shots for drunk slags. He wondered if Harry would ever go to a club like this.   
“Is Harry a good dancer? (;” Louis texted him while pouring himself a shot of vodka. That was the best part about working the bar, free drinks.   
“Ha! You wish (;” Harry texted back.   
And maybe they were shamelessly flirting, but Harry was only a texting buddy so it didn’t matter, right?  
So that night, when Louis’s walked home, a tiny bit tipsy and a little bit love drunk off Harry he doesn’t think twice before walking in the kitchen and pulling out a lemon. Eating it without even listening to the barking voice dulled by alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and rocking and being cute little strawberry shortcakes xx.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I don't mean to ask much, but I write anonymously, I keep who I am a secret and therefore I cannot promote my writing anywhere. That being said, if you like this story, feel free to share with friends or followers or whatever. I'm not going to tell you guys to promote me, I'm simply stating it would be plenty appreciated. (:

All was perfect, all was, in a sense, peachy-keen, and then he woke up. It was only half a headache and two tenths of a hangover but four fifths self hatred and one fifth suicidal tendencies that weighed heavy against him, hammering him down to the mattress.

There were so many things wrong with last night.

For instance, he flirted with Harry, he ate, he drank, he ate, he let multiple people flirt with him at the bar, he ate, and oh right, he ate.

And perhaps it was one lemon, seventeen calories that would have already been burned off merely by breathing, but it subsided the hunger pains. And the less thoughts about hunger and his stomach, the more thoughts about everything else. Absolutely everything else.

Louis really should have seen it coming when Zayn came into his room two hours later bickering at him to get up. Zayn, however, wasn’t alone, with Liam walking into the room perfectly tanned and sun kissed from his vacation in Spain.

“Leeeeyum,” Louis whined, opening his arms and trying to call him over, but Liam was already occupied, raiding through his cabinets and fridge.

And Louis swears he would rather have him look through his blog than look through his kitchen.

After the last empty cupboard clapped shut, Liam turned to him, his muscles flexing and his eyebrows furrowing. Liam was a worrier, and he knew the circumstances, and that only made him worry more.

And so finally, he responded, mimicking back a sing-songed “Louis,” before sitting on the edge of his bed. “Are you going to tell me why you only have lemons and almonds in your kitchen?”

Thankfully, Louis had like #700,001 planned, because it was that easy to lie.

“I’ve been meaning to go shopping but paychecks have been tight. Zayn takes me out to eat all the time though, so I really have no point in that much food in the house.”

Liam thought on it before nodding, and then thought on it some more. And he opened his mouth to speak but then figured it better to keep it shut because Louis already knew what he was going to say.

Lie #700,002: “I’m not starving myself because of what happened. I promise, I’m coping.”

It took only two lies for Liam to be back to his normal self, explaining his whole trip to Spain with his sister and her fiance and all the girls he met, and on the topic of girls Zayn brought up the tattoo girl and how he’s taking her out to dinner over the weekend and then proceeded to tell Liam about Reece brag about Louis some.

“We hooked up, I haven’t talked to him since, don’t plan on it,” Louis waved away, mustering up the energy to sit up in his bed. Liam pouted and Zayn shrugged, because Zayn saw it coming.

Zayn was halfway through suggesting things to do that day when Louis’s phone started ringing. Zayn and Liam, having a very faint idea of what privacy was, stayed in the room, which made the air twice as heavy when he checked the Caller ID.

“Lottie?” there was rustling in the background, like she was outside, or walking quickly, and either one gave Louis a bad twist in his gut, paranoia raking images of his own sister being in trouble.

“Yeah, hey Lou, how are you?” her voice was hushed and rushed, secretive.

“I’m fine, everything alright?”

“Yeah, well, kinda, I was talking to Mark earlier,” she paused, letting that sink in for Louis, because Mark meant bad news, always, inevitably, bad news, “and, um, he can’t give you that deposit for Uni, or won’t give you, I should say.”

Louis threw his head back against the wall, the pain rippling down the length of his spine, and then Zayn grabbed his ankle and oh yeah, they were there.

“Fuck, Lotts, what the fuck am I supposed to do now,” and he heard her hesitate, he shouldn’t take his anger out on her, he really shouldn’t.

“Louis, I’m sorry, I tried to convince him, but-I mean, there’s still all that money from...yeah,” Lottie’s favourite pastime was being vague. Even when she was just a baby and Louis would baby sit her while his mum worked over hours. For dinner she wanted “that thing that you fed me that time ago,” and for a bedtime story she wanted “that story with the blue thing,” and it took deciphering, but Louis finally understood her things and her thats.

“Yeah, but I mean that money is for emergencies, I can’t just dish out ten thousand quid for a fucking university. I’ll just get another job, talk to some banks. Lotts, I gotta go, tell everyone I said hi, I’ll be in touch.” he said it all so fast he felt out of breath when he disconnected the call. He looked up at Liam and Zayn who were giving their best “You-don’t-have-to-tell-us-if-you-don’t-want-to” faces which really meant “please-tell-us-or-else-we’ll-call-her-and-ask-ourselves.”

“Mark can’t-won’t- give me the money for Uni,” Louis fed off the information to the two, watching their faces more from curiosity to sheer pity. “Don’t give me money, I’m not a charity case,” he snapped, running his hands through his hair.

“Lou, it wouldn’t be an issue though, you deserve the money, you’re straight brilliant, you deserve to go,” Liam rested his hand on Louis’s knee but all Louis felt was fire, fire, fire, until he pulled away, curling into a ball.

Really, leave it to Liam to consider money as not an issue. Liam was born rich, raised rich, and will probably die rich without ever lifting a finger.

“Liam, I really appreciate it, but let me just see what I can do first, taking your money is the last thing I’d do.” Louis sugar-coated, once again, just to watch Liam’s expression soften. Zayn stayed silent, simply because he knew Louis was going to explode, he just didn’t want to pull the trigger. And so after too much silence, Louis looked up past sweaty palms and weak knees and put on the most apologetic smile he could before saying, “Can I just have today, to figure out everything, I don’t mean to kick you out but-” and that was all it took for Liam and Zayn to press kisses on Louis’s forehead and walk out and Louis trusted that Zayn would know better than to use the key against him today.

He was caving in on himself, his stomach sinking and his heart pounding out of his chest like a struggled attempt to keep him alive. The thought of the razor tucked in his bedside drawer wasn’t even enough to calm him, he needed something more. He felt the white hot searing pain but he couldn’t figure out what to do with it. And that was when he found himself staring straight through the mirror above his bathroom sink. And then the mirror was gone. And he couldn’t feel his hand. It was a simple adrenaline rush that took away any pain, replacing it with a faint sense of relief because his hand was stained red and there was glass everywhere and it was beautiful.

 

By the time he pulled himself into the shower, it had all hit him, and the caving hit a breaking point and he was full-on collapsing in on himself. It wasn’t the anger at Mark that brought him like this, it was the whole situation. And it was his fault. Could have been easily prevented, easily stopped, and it was easily taken away from him. It was the downward spiral hitting rock bottom and drilling beneath that. It was that moment, two years ago, where killing himself from the inside out was how he paid his dues. It was emptiness, because that’s all that he was left with, and he would hold onto it for dear life, because it was all he had.

One fifth suicidal tendencies turned into three fifths and one fifth motivation by the time he escaped the shower. There were pills somewhere, there was a razor if he wanted to go that way, a belt would work but he couldn’t even muster the energy to get changed.

And leave it to Harry to text him right then.

“Hey Lou, how are you doing? xx”

Louis felt himself typing the response before he could even stop himself.

“Harry I can’t. I can’t deal with this fucking bullshit anymore.”

The text back came so fast Louis didn’t even have time to close out of the screen.

“Do what. What’s wrong?”

His knuckles were raw and his eyesight was fading and he was so tired. He could just sleep forever on the cold, wooden floor.

“My fucking step dad won’t pay any of my college. That was the only reason I came out to Manchester. And now I have no money to stay here or get back. I’m trapped. It’s worthless”

And it sounded like nothing but pure daddy problems but it was so much more than that. He could easily say “My step dad wont give me money because I’m gay. Because he blames me for what happened to my mum. Because he doesn’t tolerate mental illness. Because he would want nothing more to watch me die cold, alone, on my apartment floor.” But he couldn’t. He couldn’t open up. He couldn’t trust someone who walked into his life two days ago full of recycled advice and butterfly wrists. He couldn’t burden Harry with his own instability.

He needed to get up and take care of his hand, he needed to get up and clean all of the broken glass in the bathroom, he needed to sleep, he needed to sleep, he needed to sleep.

He woke up with his hand stuck to the floor with dried blood, creating a throbbing pulse of it’s own. And it seemed that the throbbing was pretty loud because there was a constant banging that was ringing through his ears. Oh no wait, that was the door. And he was still wrapped in a towel.

Louis pulled a jumper over his head, whether it was clean or dirty he didn’t care, and a pair of boxers that used to fit him before. He blamed the wash for stretching them out, but he knew somewhere what the real reason was. Maybe it was the padding of his feet or the other giving up that stopped the knocking of the door but he answered the door anyway. And Liam was on his phone, eyes blown and fist red and Louis knew it. He was worrying. Always worrying.

“Zayn told me to check in on you, make sure you were okay.” Liam blurted, hanging up the phone where Zayn was probably on the other line.

“I was asleep.”

“You’ve been asleep all day. It’s six.”

And something hung out to Louis about six, but he was too tired, too worn out to care, so all he could muster was, “Sorry.”

“What happened to your hand?”

Louis looked down and, right, that looked rather poor.

“I um,” there was a buffering on his lie, it caught on his tongue and it screamed in his ear to tell the truth, to get help, but then it was quickly chased away by something darker, louder. “I slipped, fell, tried to grab something. Mirrors aren’t good for gripping.” Louis laughed softly, weakly, fakely.

“Lou, that looks like it needs stitches, holy shit.”

“It doesn’t hurt.” It felt _amazing_.

“We should get you to a doctor.”

And “no.” No. he wouldn’t go to those money-loving pricks. He couldn’t.

“Lou, please,” and Liam was pushing past him into the apartment, into the bathroom and Louis winced. “Louis! Fuck!” Liam was calling from the bathroom, and Louis could hear him sweeping up the glass. Leave it to Liam. Liam “I know your hand is about to fall off but look at this mess!” Payne. He meant well.

“Liam, don’t worry about it, I’ll get it after-” Fuck, that was what six o’clock was. And then his anxiety was going haywire. What if Zayn told Liam he had work. What if Liam wants to feed him dinner. What if they found it all out. What if this was a trap. “Fuck, Liam. I’m late for work.” Louis called, trying to keep his voice from shaking because the conversation could only go one of two ways. He pulled open drawers, checked Liam was occupied before stripping his jumper and pulling his injured hand through the white sleeve, ever so careful not to stain, and pulling on his jeans. And Liam’s lack of response made his hands shaky and his clothes sticky and fuck fuck fuck this was going terribly.

“Lou, did you hear me? I said go to work, I’ll clean up here.” Liam called back and when did he respond? Why did he sound so much farther away than just the bathroom. When did the room get so dark. Was his hand still bleeding?

“Right, okay, there’s bandage in there, I should probably wrap this before the workers catch sight.” Louis said out of breath. His legs were like lead. His stomach was churning. His head was light. His mouth was dry.

“Louis? You alright?” Liam waved the bandage in front of his eyes and when did Louis walk to the bathroom? “You should stay home, call out. You look sick.”

“I feel fine.” Fine, what did that even mean anymore.

Liam pouted gently, cupping Louis’s face with his hand, Louis was fire fire fire, but Liam couldn’t tell. He was giving him an open door for help, for anything. That’s what Liam did. And Louis loved it. And hated himself for not being able to accept it. And all he had to do was count down, because this was a constant thing that Liam did that Louis became accustomed. Fourteen seconds and then his hand would drop and he would tell Louis to get going. Twelve seconds and he would give an encouraging smile like an affectionate father. Seven seconds and he would run his hands over his nearly buzzed hair and sigh faintly. Three seconds and he would watch Louis walk out the door and shake his head like a mother wondering where she went wrong.

Louis was floating down the streets and to the bar. He loved it. He strived on it. The night was far from approaching but there were already constellations behind his eyes. It was only a Tuesday and he was already wavering in his steps like a drunk hooker on a Friday night. But he had three hours to kill and there was a pretty cafe right across the street from the bar and maybe just some tea wouldn’t hurt.

Pretty was definitely the word to describe the coffee shop as he walked in, there was some remix of Smooth Jazz and Indie music that Louis quite liked. And it smelled like strawberry cream white tea and there were bookshelves instead of walls and it was pretty. Pretty like the barista with the doe eyes and the bandana wrapped round his head.

“Welcome to the Chateau Blanc Cafe. What can I get you?” his voice was rugged and soft, like granola dipped in chocolate fondue.

Louis was dazed, faded, lost, which was his excuse for giving the answer of “Tea.”

The barista arched an eyebrow and his lips curled up and his hands stopped moving around the tea-towel it was like the moving doll froze back to its porcelain statue.

It look a few seconds for Louis to realize what he had said and he was sputtering stumbling over the menu and his eyes felt as empty as his stomach.

“Right, sorry, long day, um,” all the teas looked foreign. Names such as “ToLife Youthberry” and “Chinese Silver Needle” and they all were so pretty. “Just a cuppa the body and mind white tea?” Louis figured it sounded the best. He needed to get his body and mind in order.

The barista nodded and began brewing the tea leaving Louis to look around at anything other than the way his abnormally large hands manhandled the tea keg, or how when he bent over the counter his hip popped out and his shirt rode up slightly. And it was the first time he noticed the big chalkboard standing on the counter that said in big pink and blue chalk lines. “This lovely Tuesday your Barista is named Harry. Have a beautiful day!” and there was a HarryHarryHarry out there that probably assumed Louis was dead. Which was when he realized that through everything, Louis had left his phone at home. And fuck would work be boring today.

Harry the barista handed Louis the cup of tea with a two-rowed smile and he wore three rings on each hand and had a cross tattoo on his left thumb and something about Harry made his eyes feel full again. He nodded his thanks and left a few pounds on the counter before walking over to one of the pretty plush couches and sipping his tea. And it tasted like serendipity, it tasted like innocence and beauty and it tasted like the Harry who cared for his through a phone screen.

“You know, you can read the books, they’re not just decorations.” Barista Harry was walking over to him, the tea-towel now rotating and fidgeting around his hands and now that he was out from behind the counter Louis could see how painted on his black jeans were. How long and lean and coffee-creamer pale he was and all Louis could think was envyenvyenvy and he forced it away, sugar cubes melting over his thoughts as he weakly smiled up at Harry.

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“This one is really good. It was the first book I read when I came to this place.” Harry had walked over, reaching up on the highest shelf without effort and pulling out a mossy green coverless book. He realized Louis staring at the cover and looked down at his worn out boots. “It’s called um, the Critique of Pure Reason.” Louis stood up and instantly wish he hadn’t because he was gripping at the bookshelf to keep himself from falling. He blinked tightly, once, twice, three times before he could feel the ground underneath his feet again.

“What’s it about?” Louis smiled, avoiding the worrisome glance that Harry was giving him that looked quite like Liam’s.

“It’s a philosophy book. It’s just cool to see the inner workings of peoples minds. Like, the author, he um, explains prior knowledge, and the different ways of the soul. It’s really interesting.”

Louis nodded and honestly, he was really intrigued, he was just too worn out to put energy into his responses.

“I can let you borrow it, the shop doesn’t check the inventory of the books. They don’t really care about them,” and he frowned, running his fingertips over the spines of the books and Louis saw it, whether it was in his eyes or in his fingertips, that his cynical mind somehow skipped over Harry. Harry actually cared about things. Louis could believe it.

“Yeah, are you sure?” Louis smiled, letting the mug warm his hands because his bones were shivering in a cold state that was more than skin deep and it dulled the pain in his hand that Harry nicely didn’t bring up. Harry smiled and placed the book on the table blockading the space between them.

“Definitely. It means I’ll get to see you again.” he smiled a cheeky grin and Louis shivered. Not from being cold.

Louis pretended he didn’t hear it and folded the book under his arm. “Thank you so much. I have work Mondays through Fridays across the street. I’ll drop it off when I finish it.”

“And tell me what you think of it?” Harry looked eager, like he was sharing a part of him and testing the reactions. Hopeful, encouraging, genuine, steady, intrigued. Louis wanted to escape while he still could.

“Yeah definitely, I um, really should get to work, thanks, um, Harry,” Louis smiled and blushed, placing the tea mug on the table and smiling up at the barista before wavering his turning and floating away.

“Hey, um, what’s your name?” Harry was calling after him while he had his hand on the pretty wood carved handle of the door.

“I’m Louis.”

“Louis?” Harry’s eyebrows knitted together and his hands twitched from the tea towel. It was instantaneous and in a flash it was gone. Louis nodded, unabashed, unconcerned, before walking out and to the bar, still an hour early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy reading this because I surely love writing this. Your kudos and comments and hits are much appreciated they make my heart warm (:


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a terrible person for not updating I'm not even going to give you excuses. But once school starts I'll be more organized and have time to actually write! And I'll promise I'll actually do it!

Work was a lot less bad when he realized if he angled himself properly behind the bar he could see right out the windows and across the street to Harry. Not that he was stalking Harry, he just caught Louis in a trance and he didn’t know how to counter the curse. The bar was filthy, full of Frat boys trying to pick up anything with at least a BAC of .08% and full of graduates trying to shove their degrees, and tongues, down Louis’s throat. He really hated his job, he hated how every guy just figured Louis to be that easy, but Louis deserved it. He wasn’t anything but a cheap fuck with a poorly functioning mind, stupid and trashy, just like the bar. So when the bar closed down and Louis locked up he noticed the coffee shop was still open, and Harry was still in there, alone, but Louis had another Harry to tend to. And he really didn’t realize why he cared so much.  
“Harry, I’m not dead, I fell asleep, then when I woke up I was rushed to work and I left my phone at home and I’m sorry if you hate me, fuck.” Louis texted after seven missed calls and twenty-four texts.  
His apartment was spotlessly clean, courtesy of Liam, and the kitchen was, as he dreaded, fully stocked. He should’ve realized that Liam would go above and beyond just cleaning the glass in the bathroom. And as he sat on his bed with the freshly washed sheets, blogging and reblogging and waiting for Harry to text him back, and he heard every single scream and whisper from the kitchen. He wasn’t hungry, he told himself that nearly a thousand times, but his stomach was an empty cavern that quaked with protest.  
Next thing he knew he was pulling out trash bag after trash bag, throwing out the full gallon of milk and the loaf of bread and the boxes of cereal and the peanut butter and the cold cuts and the hot dogs and the pasta, all of it had already gone rotten in his mind. All of it was already bad. He left three full trash bags at the door, promising himself he would get them outside when he had the energy. Just, as of now, his hand was throbbing and his knees were aching and his mind was flooding and he was so hungry he was nearly lucid.  
He managed to make his way to the bed despite how his eyesight had gone black while he walked. He opened his computer and his fingers already felt restless. Blogging addiction, maybe, and his phone vibrated from somewhere lost in the duvet.  
“Thank god. Are you alright?” Louis could feel the panic in Harry’s text and it made him feel uneasy.  
“Yeah, I’m fine. Broke a mirror but oh well.” Louis texted back with his good hand, pulling off the bandage on the other one to bask in its beauty.  
Tumblr was boring that night and Harry seemed to be the center of his entertainment. He found out that Harry worked at a coffee shop, that he was only two years younger than him, and that his favourite colour was yellow because it was like sunshine. Louis pushed his computer away and opened the book, it smelled like dust and moldy pages but it also smelled faintly like cologne and coffee. And at the end of every page he texted Harry back as Harry asked him questions and interjected his opinions and Louis could never hold a conversation with anyone, but with Harry it was so easy.  
Louis felt his walls disintegrating, and he didn’t really mind. Harry had already known every fucked up bit about Louis just from looking at his blog. So, Louis didn’t really need to hide that part about him. Just because he let Harry know the cracks in his mind doesn’t mean he’d let Harry seal them.  
It was nearly five in the morning when Harry had fallen asleep, his last text being something pointless about why tortoises never die, which Harry had predicted was because their shell kept them out of harms way and their laziness kept them from doing things that would put them in danger. And Louis quite liked Harry’s mind as much as Harry loved trying to fix Louis’s. Harry’s mind had the knowledge of a two inch deep ocean. He knew everything, but he only knew very little about everything. The rest he put to prediction and philosophy. And Louis had finally put his book down, which he was now three quarters of the way done, and he felt light. Not because of the emptiness in his stomach or the fresh cuts on his knuckles. There was something in the air that made his mind more clear and his blood less dense and his smile a little less forced. And all of it made it that much easier to fall asleep to the chirping birds and sunrise.  
That morning, and yes, he actually woke up without the aid of Liam or Zayn, he trudged himself down the seven flights of stairs to the dumpster to throw out all of the now-actually-rotting food. He earned a few strange glances from his neighbors because even they knew him as the one in 7C that never did anything with his life. And trash meant doing something, party possibly. And he was almost positive that his neighbors were convinced that him and Zayn were siamese twins, so seeing Louis do two things out of the ordinary, well.  
“Morning Luke, what has you up so early?”  
And who the fuck was that. Who ever it was she had blonde hair and lipstick on her teeth and was walking towards him with an oblivious smile on her face.  
“My name is Louis.” he said quietly, staring down at the ground. He hated talking. He hated people. Goawaygoawaygoaway.  
“Right! Oh dear, I’m sorry, my brother’s name is Luke, looks just like you,” and what a poor lie, “So, anyways, I don’t think I’ve seen you out before noon, good to see you up this early!” she was too happy, too bubbly, like a mother’s friend that can’t get over how big you’ve gotten.  
“I had to take out trash? And who ever said I wasn’t awake before noon.” If she was allowed to lie then so was he.  
“Right then,” and she finally, fucking finally, took to account how he didn’t want to talk, she patted his shoulder, smiled down at him because her heels made her about a head taller, before walking away. “It was good to see you, Louis,” she called over her shoulder.  
And well that was enough to socially drain him for one day. Not that anything particularly bad happened, he just always hated talking to people. When he was a kid doctors had diagnosed him with selective mutism because he only really talked to one person. And that was his speech tutor who he grew rather fond of. He eventually began talking more and more until he had a social life, a rather good one at that, parties on the regular and friends at his disposal, but one thing happened and it all slipped out from underneath him. He lost all that he had worked for since he was a child, only now talking came more naturally, it was the anxiety and the reaction that killed him, especially with people he didn’t know well. Zayn and Liam stuck with him through all that had happened, and well, he was only texting Harry not really talking to him. And Harry at the coffee shop was just someone who made even walking on water easy.  
Louis only had to stop twice going back up the stairs, his legs giving out on him. If floating came naturally, he wished he could fly. His home was finally empty of its demons, he felt safe walking past the kitchen and clear walking into the bathroom. The mirror was nothing but the metal plate it had sat on, abrupt dents that marked his knuckles, and he was really, really, surprised Liam didn’t say anything about it. Zayn can observe and ignore within respect, Liam can glimpse and molly coddle, it was an action reaction and Louis had learned to live with it. Louis was nearly positive Zayn knew it all, knew all the reasons, all the shifts and gears, and simply didn’t ask because he already knew. He was also nearly positive Liam got hints but didn’t want to believe it.  
For once in his ever so sudden social life, Louis had a solid few hours to blog, and blogging he did. He had a few asks asking where he had gone, a few assuming he was dead, and the usual hate from people who assumed he was fake. Not that they gave him a reason not to believe that. He was a faceless, lost, blogger. They knew his name, they knew his story, but that could only keep his followers very seldom satisfied. The haters were immature, telling him to post his scars and cuts saying he was a fake twelve year old girl if he didn’t. They were just incredulous, so Louis didn’t really let them bother him.  
By two thirty Zayn walked sleepily into his room, his beanie flumped over his head and his pyjama pants slung low on his hips. He was still wiping sleep out of his eye when he sat next to Louis, curling into his chest, giving him a second of fate to close out of Tumblr.  
“Morning sleepy head,” Louis grinned, taking joy out of being the one to say it versus the other way around.  
“Sh’up, g’home late,” Zayn mumbled, fisting the thin fabric of Louis’s jumper.  
“Party animal, what were you doing up so late, does your mother know about this? Young man need I remind you of your curfew,” Louis poked Zayns ribs, barely causing him to jump before cradling even closer into his lap.  
“W’out with that pre’y girl from th’shop.” And Louis racked his brain for the memory, his mind too cluttered to remember. He remembered hearing Zayn bring her up at the restaurant. But restaurant meant food and food was a one track mindset.   
“Tell me about her,” Louis smiled, standing up and walking to the kitchen, courtesy of Liam who had bought him tea. Louis didn’t see any harm in it, but he kept it stashed away on the highest cupboard for good measure.  
“She’s pretty, name’s Perrie. Cute laugh. Pretty eyes.” Zayn yawned, laying down on Louis’s bed and burying his face in the pillows. “I’ve liked everything she’s told me about herself.” he groaned, his voice muted through the pillow. And yeah, leave it to Zayn to be the hopeless romantic, but Louis’s eyes shot wide at the remark. When he thought about it, he liked everything Harry told him about himself, couldn’t think of a single bad thing. Some people just fit, though, it didn’t mean anything, right? Louis nodded, pressing Zayn to talk more as he handed him his tea and pulled out his phone to text Harry.  
“Actually woke up before afternoon aren’t you proud of me?” he texted before averting his gaze to Zayn who had now finally sat up and was talking coherently.  
“She said she was only in the parlour because she likes the atmosphere. Which is good I think, she has pretty skin, don’t think she should cover it ink,” he let out a one sighed laugh before adding, “Hey, that rhymed.”  
Louis let Zayn talk about her more and take over his bed as he sat on the floor and stared up at him, trying his hardest to listen and text Harry back at the same time. Harry was on some rant about how his hair is getting too long and he doesn’t know what to do with it because he doesn’t feel like cutting it either and it was nice to hold a conversation that didn’t revolve around himself, Louis thought.  
By the time work o’clock had reared its pretty face, Zayn had left to go see Perrie and Liam was with his friends and Louis was left at his flat, at a complete numbness. He wasn’t happy, and he wasn’t sad, and he wasn’t lost or confused, just numb. And it was nice to have all of the bad voices in his head so tired they couldn’t even speak. It was still only six o’clock when he left, because leaving that early was a habit, and he was pretty sure the cute barista was working again and tea and pretty boys sounded really nice right then. He didn’t even realize until he was at the coffee shop that he had the book grasped tightly at his waist. He was nearly finished and he possibly, literally couldn’t put it down. The coffee shop smelled like cinnamon and cookies and his stomach barked in delight and Louis wanted to all but scream right then and there. Harry was pulling a tray of some sort of pastry out of the oven, the tassels of the scarf hanging low down his back. He was essentially the book definition of a flower child, and Louis smiled to himself at the image.  
Harry must of not had heard him come in because he was humming to himself, pulling the pastries off the tray and neatly onto a platter as Louis watched from the plush couch. Louis had just opened his book when Harry looked up and gasped rather loudly.  
“Oh god, didn’t see you come in, wow, oops, sorry,” he flustered, walking out from behind the counter and sitting on the coffee table in front of Louis. “Like the book so far?” he grinned, like Louis’s opinion meant something to him, and from the little snippets of Harry that Louis knew of, he probably did.  
“I really do, read it all through last night.” Louis nodded, showing him how far he was in the book. Harry’s smile widened even more, it must of been some connection, some infatuation that he had with books, that sharing them was much bigger of a deal than it should be. But Louis didn’t mind, he knew to a science what it was to make a mountain out of a molehill.  
“Tea?” Harry stood up, pulling his apron over his head and fuck, Louis knew that black on black made you look tall but Harry just redefined it. He was like a ball of play-doh that you rolled between your palms. And Louis really considered the running away screaming part.  
“Yeah, um, anything, surprise me,” he said as casually as possible, dipping his head to the confines of the book to avert his gaze. Harry came back with some sort of pink tea, and Louis was hesitant but pressed the liquid through his lips anyways.  
“Sevenberry Sangria,” Harry mused, the flavor of the words dancing off his lips, “‘sgood, huh?” and it was. It was sweet and soft and subtle and warm and it was just like Harry, so Louis wasn’t surprised when he said it was his favourite.  
The more Harry talked to him the more Louis’s determination to respond deflated out of him, to a point where he was only nodding and laughing in what he hoped were the right places. Not that he meant it to anything towards Harry, in fact, Harry was divulging into some theory that he created off of the book. Some sort of devils advocate to the original theory. And Louis loved it, he loved the was Harry could create some sort of thought, deep and elaborate, that actually tied into the real world. So, it wasn’t that he didn’t care what Harry was saying, it was that he was just so tired. Harry, being perfectly wonderful, must have realized because he asked Louis if he was alright and slowly made his way back to the counter to add icing to the pastry’s.  
Louis took the time to text the-other Harry, not that he had anything to say, their conversation had died a few hours ago, but he wanted to share his petty thoughts with Harry, and, essentially, the only thought he had going through his head was “Why the hell are baristas so pretty,” so that was what he texted him.  
After barista-Harry was done icing the pastry’s, he pulled out his phone, blushing and smirking before texting back whoever had texted him and a little sense of envy sparked Louis’s fire. He wanted to be the one sending him blushing, but he couldn’t, he was too fat, to obnoxious, he wasn’t as deep and elaborate as Harry. Harry painted sunsets with his words and Louis’s only printed tragedies. Harry deserved better.  
He couldn’t curve his mind, it had hit a low and usually the thoughts would go right back up, be forgotten, be clouded behind the boy with the pretty doe eyes, but when the boy was the reasons for the bad thoughts, he kept slowly sinking into them. Louis remembered the book set on the coffee table, where Harry had left it after finding a quote, he pulled it open, burying his nose into it to distract Harry from seeing that under his jumper he was dragging long fingernails over rolls of fat, pinching and pulling and cutting and mutilating. He never even realized his phone vibrating on the table with Harry’s response:

“You know, I am a barista, does that mean I’m pretty?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and kudos and thank you for everyone who comments on these, because you give me motivation to write. Thanks for telling your friends or whoever. Thanks for rocking, essentially. I'll try to have the next chapter up by next Sunday! (:


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a bit rushed. Don't hate me. Critique as much as you want, my motive of writing is to become a better writer, so all opinions are much appreciated.

Louis finished the book the next day. It was something about the cologne and musky dipped binding that Louis craved as it lay disheveled on his bed. He wanted more from it but there was nothing more that the book could give him until he realized, he wanted Harry. Not in a sexual way, not in any way more than the way he wanted Zayn, Liam, or other Harry in his life. But even that was a step up. He resulted it to him being hungry, or actually in a perked up mood, he blamed the weather and the stars, but it never crossed his mind once that he was getting over what had happened. And that would never ever happen, nothing could make Louis overlook that fact. 

So it only took Louis those two days to map out his schedule, kudos to Harry for actually telling him it. Harry worked Mondays through Fridays from afternoon to close, and Saturday mornings. But Harry said he liked his job, Louis figured Harry would like spilt ice cream on a sweating hot day, too. Harry was just sunrays and goldfish and bubbles and swingsets. Louis needed some light in his life, even if it was a desk lamp on the other side of the room. 

He had other Harry too, which at the moment was asking him if he had eaten today. Louis texted out the “Yeah,” but it nagged him, on his fingertips and in his stomach and etched across his mind. Something, what little left of the sanity in his mind, was forcing him not to lie to Harry. It was strange, really, he had become accustomed to lying to Zayn and especially Liam and everyone else around him, but in a way, Harry already knew. He wasn’t hiding anything. 

“Louis, eat something, please?x” 

And it was like that first night all over again. Snapping and bone breaking as he couldn’t even muster the energy to tell him off, or to lie, he was mere begging for something, he just wasn’t sure what. 

“Harry, I told you I can’t. It’s not something I can control, it’s not something I want to control, it’s gone too far at this point. You can try to fix me, people can sit here and shove food down my throat all day night, but what is it going to fix? Stuff me up like a fat ass? It’s not going to fix anything psychologically, so what’s the point. I’m at the point of no return, Harry. I’m sorry.” 

The text came out easily, like some wall had broken down entirely, left to rubble and dust. It was the only thing he had said that he didn’t doubt in the least bit, it was pure honest, and a sense of pride filled his empty stomach. Or maybe it was just butterflies from being so light headed. 

Harry didn’t text back for a while, and Louis paid no mind to it, or at least tried not to. He scared Harry away, Harry had given up on him, and his demons were throwing a celebration and his heart strings strummed to another lost friend. 

He blogged until six that day, hitting post limit just before he had to get ready. His knuckles were finally healing and he hated it, he wanted to open them up and let them bleed until he could no longer. In his slightly uplifting world he was still considering suicide, and on the great big grand scheme of things. That was pretty bad. 

Louis made his way down to the coffee shop, stumbling and falling and his stomach was curled up to his ears in pain but he made it, he had no choice. Harry was sitting on the counter, mixing something in a bowl and bobbing his head from side to side to some tune Louis didn’t recognize. The tails of his bandana swayed low down his back and a few loose curls danced with him. It was adorable really. But Louis tried his hardest to ignore it, Harry still deserved better. All it took Louis was to trip over a trashcan that he dizzied himself over to for him to get Harry’s attention. And by attention he meant running over to him to make sure he was alright, dropping everything on the counter. 

“I’m fine, just seeing stars again,” Louis rolled his eyes, soothing Harry’s worry lines though the grip on his arm didn’t loosen. 

“I used to see stars a lot during Jewish holidays, like the ones where you can’t eat. Maybe you’re hungry?” Harry supplied and yes, fucking yes, Louis was hungry. But that was the point, wasn’t it? 

“No, I eat a lot, really, it’s kind of obvious. I just have low blood sugar is all.” Louis shrugged, the shrug being a half assed attempt to shake Harry off of him because his skin was itching firefirefire, but all it was was warmthwarmthwarmth. 

“Well, there are cookies and cupcakes and sweets over there if you want anything. It’ll kick up your blood sugar.” Harry offered, finally letting go of his arm and giving a weak smile. 

And it wasn’t the first time Louis noticed the wall of sweets. He knew the calorie content of each, along with the ingredients, trying to find something that made them unappetizing. He knew for a fact each ingredient with icing had milk in it, and he was lactose intolerant. Or so he told himself until he believed it. So it divided his options, or lack thereof in half. Never would he eat those, but he liked stripping them down to as ugly as they were, just as they did to him. 

“I’m fine, just ate before I came here,” Louis said in possibly an over-convincing tone and judging at Harry’s reaction he probably picked up on it. 

“You sure you don’t want anything?” he said, rocking on his heels and something screamed at Louis that he knew but he didn’t dare dive further into that hole. Louis shook his head though, before he could let his sanity gain reign he walked over to the over stuffed sofa and sat. 

“What other books do you have, Harold?” Louis smiled, he wanted so badly to change the conversation, to distract Harry, and Louis knew to a science how to distract people. Smoke and mirrors. 

“Peter Pan is good, Ernest Hemmingway On Paris,” he was listing them off one by one and he didn’t even have to look up at the shelves. It was as if he knew each book as a person, his face changed with each title, from good to bad to indifferent to lucid. Like each book had affected him in a different way. 

Louis eventually settled of Peter Pan, it was afterall one of his favourite movies so he figured it was about time he read the book. Harry’s face lit up when he pulled it off the shelf and dusted off the gold emblem of Peter in the corner. 

“Funny. This was the second book I read when I came here,” and he said it a way where Louis could tell it meant a lot. Wherever he came from, why he came here, this minimum wage coffee shop held near in his heart. Louis just wanted to dive deeper and float to shore at the same time. 

“When you say you came here, though, what do you mean?” Louis tested, he knew the reaction of invasive questions, he didn’t know stop and go with Harry. But Harry just seemed go go go with no boundaries set. You could ask him why the sky is blue and why his hair is curly and he’d probably give an answer. 

“I came here from Holmes Chapel, tiny village, few hours away. Me mum let me come here for my sixth form because I didn’t get on well in my last school. When I first came here I didn’t know anyone, which was nice, because I didn’t have anyone knowing the bad things about me either. But I never really met anyone, I still don’t know anyone. Minus my co-workers and you. All I got to really know were these books. I sort of made them my new friends, I guess. I never really realized the full effect of loneliness until I came here. Like, the people at my old school were always reminding me that I wasn’t alone, they’d always invade my life. I wouldn’t really ask for that back, it’s just been quiet.” 

Boom. Louis nearly felt the first wall come down. Harry was staring at the string of the tea bag that someone left on a napkin. So pensive. So lost in thought, that he was willing to share with Louis. And something about it all, something in the way he talked, the way his thoughts came out like snippets of story tales. It all made sense. Wretched, terrible, sense. 

“Harry, I, you’re not alone.” And Louis wanted to hug him and hold him close and reach out to him but at the same time, he had to know. “Give me your phone, I’ll put my number in.” 

Harry gave a weak smile before handing over his phone. It burned in Louis’s hands, acid eating through his palms. All his answers were right there. He didn’t even bother typing in his number because in his contacts was already a Louis. And right below it, in tiny grey letters, his url. Wretched, terrible, sense. And he didn’t know how to react. His initial response was to drop the phone, and kudos to Harry’s phone case for protecting the screen. It all came tumbling down on him, Harry was Harry. Harry knew about Louis, his in’s and out’s. Such an idiot for voicing his problems. Such an idiot for letting his walls down. 

“Harry,” was all he could muster as he picked up the phone. Noticing Louis’s contact still up. It was deadly, like acid rain in a city. Louis needed to escape and Harry needed answers. So he ran, ignoring the stumbling feet of Harry’s after him. Because he couldn’t turn back. He couldn’t muster the energy to figure this out. 

So that’s how he ended up curled in front of the rim of the toilet. Contents of nothing being scraped up by the back of his toothbrush until his throat strained numb and blood mixed with bile. He was stupid, idiotic. He should’ve noticed sooner, the second he watched Harry’s eyebrows knit when he first said his name. Should’ve paid more attention. His vision was draping black, his mouth was running dry. And four missed calls and seven unopened texts would grow larger as Louis blacked out on the cold tile floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, telling friends, kudos, comments, bookmarks, etc. You guys make me happy.


	6. Chapter 6

He really didn’t mean to wake up to sunlight, honest. But, the second he woke up was the second everything came rushing back to him. An anxiety, a dread so heavy it curled from his toes and ripped through his stomach and out his mouth once more. It was empty, blood and bile, like he was purging his emotions versus food, but the feelings still settled low in his stomach, a tamed beast. He didn’t even bother checking his phone, only stumbling into the studio with vertigo stained eyes. He was relying on Liam’s mirror at that moment, trying to ignore the rolls of fat his shirt couldn’t cover, or the double chin that was draping. He tried, at least, and then he was pinching and pulling, tugging and bruising. He only needed the mirror for his face, to gauge how presentable he looked, but full body mirrors meant full body inspection, and well. Louis needed a cigarette.

 

It was as easy as calling Zayn, in theory. Yet, in practice, he stumbled back to his phone only to feel acid-green nails claw at his throat from all of Harry’s texts. And after getting passed that, calling Zayn was a newfound process.

 

Zayn answered. He spoke. Nothing came out. Louis’s should have expected, honestly, the wreckage he put on his throat from purging unwanted calories in the past was only irritated more now. So he hung up and texted Zayn anyways.

 

“Taken ill. Come over and bring cigs. You’re the best x” he texted before chucking his phone across the room to avoid any sort of contact with Harry’s texts. Louis knew he couldn’t avoid it forever but he could avoid it for now, at least. Within minutes Zayn was hurrying over, with Liam as his accomplice. He wanted to say hi but again, nothing. Much to Liam’s protest Zayn stuck a cigarette between Louis’s lips, lighting it with a glare to Liam. Zayn knew. He always knew.

 

“Louis, you look wretched,” and well, as if Louis needed another person telling him that. He gave him so few crude hand gestures before blowing out the smoke and flicking the ash toward Liam.

 

“What made you ill? Something you ate? Did?” and yeah, Zayn definitely knew. When Louis didn’t respond he handed him his phone, saying something along the lines of type it out but Louis found himself cringing away from the device. There was a napkin on the kitchen counter though, and Zayn always kept a pen behind his ear, so it sufficed.

 

“Something I ate last night I suppose. Food poisoning.” Harry poisoning, he wanted to write. But he kept his whining to a minimum. Liam nodded, feeling his forehead and voted to go fetch some flu medication at his house. By the time Liam had left Zayn was lighting his own cigarette.

 

“So tell me what really has you ill,” Zayn smirked, speaking through half closed lips and a fog of smoke. It was as open door, he was offering, taking, he knew. And fuck, Louis’s walls were caved enough.

 

“Boy troubles. Leave it at that.” Louis wrote, his hand shaking. Malnutrition or anxiety he didn’t really know.

 

“So you lost your voice….because you like someone,” and Louis just wanted to nod and leave it at that but hell, that sounded a lot worse than it really was.

 

“Don’t like him like that, no, you know how I am with that. Just stress, tension, makes me sick. Stupid things.” Louis just wanted to scream, but he couldn’t, and he didn’t dare make Zayn worry more about him, so he just curled up in the ball that was himself.

 

Zayn nodded, he wanted to say more as much as Louis’s wanted to scream but he knew better, they both did. “Thing’s will work out, Lou. Love you man,” was the last thing Louis heard before his ears started rushing through waves and his eyesight started fading.

 

He woke up again and it was already six o’clock and just that number, staring at him from the cheap analog clock over his dresser made him nauseous. And there was no way he was going to work. He really hoped Stella and Adrian could tame their lust filled love for one night to man the bar. Just one night. Tonight he was just far too gone to even try to fake it.

 

Much to his delight, Zayn left a box of cigarettes on the table next to Liam’s gifts of flu medicine and cookies. The cookies he threw out the window and really hoped it hit someone on the head. Louis had the rest of the night, he had the rest of the night to do whatever he wanted, so that’s how he found himself thrashing through his skin listening to The Killers with cigarette butts burning holes in the cheap wood floor. It grew frustrating, nothing was deep enough. Each strike over scars, over wounds, over untouched skin wasn’t enough. A second of bliss getting vacuumed up into the black hole. He wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. He couldn’t believe he trusted someone so easily, he fell into someones path so easily, he had to be that stupid to become dependent on others once again.

 

It was when his phone rang that he finally stopped. Initially, it was only to reject the call before throwing the phone across the room once more, but a faint, desperate “Louis,” came out of the speaker and it was too late. Blurry vision and worn out hands must have made him hit the wrong button and fuck Louis for being so stupid, once again, as he made his way over to the phone.

 

His voice was still cracked and lost as he drew out a shaky, “Harry, stop calling me.” He didn’t want to think about Harry, let alone talk to him.

 

“No, Louis, just listen to me, please,” and he was nearly begging, but he didn’t understand. He knew everything there was about Louis and intentional or not, Louis still felt pretty invaded. It was all too much and Louis was far beyond his breaking point but the tower that was him was still crumbling down, slowly but surely.

 

“Just give me my fucking space,” he snapped, “If you cared at all, you’d give me my fucking space.” Louis wasn’t particularly sure why he was snapping, it was all sugar coated sweet talks to everyone. Majorly, it was because he didn’t want anyone in his life, he needed people to give up on him. Liam was a short step away from it, and Zayn, well, he at least liked Zayn in his life. Louis wanted to be left alone to die, simple as that, the whole “every living creature dies alone,” fell near to him. So, he needed to push Harry out of his life, he needed Harry out of his life more than anyone, because Harry knew.

 

Harry hesitated an “oh,” through the speaker before it was cut off short. A few frantic breaths before hanging up and Louis shook, half with hurt and half with glee. A sadistic battle between sanity and insanity. But for the time being, Harry had given up, and that was all that mattered to him.

 

So days strayed onto weeks, and Louis fell accustomed to wrapping his arms in bandages and wearing even bigger jumpers and work was even worse now that he knew what was right across the street, and he even started leaving work at eight because he’d rather endure sitting at a dinner table over seeing Harry. Not that Liam or Zayn ever asked him to dinner, something he feared the most became something that would’ve never happened in the first place. And he still had no means of getting money for uni and Liam still offered and Zayn still went on about Perrie and Louis was just a fading presence of everyone’s life.

 

Which brought him to attending work, not even sure when the last time he ate was. He was pretty sure it was nine days ago when he ate an apple, the smallest one he could find. But his mind was too weary to think properly and he really just wanted to sleep. It was when he was pouring a Gin Tonic for a sloppy sorority girl that he fell to the floor, unconscious.

 

It was all rushed, the music stopped and Adrian held Louis’s head up, because in some sort of instinct that was a good idea. And Stella ran across the street because in her world food always helped. If Louis was conscious he’d object, surely. But it was so dark, and so calm, and Louis just didn’t want to leave wherever he was at.

 

When Stella very loudly barged into the coffee shop, disturbing the peace, she found Harry already staring through the glass, across to the club where people were filing out by the tens. He glanced over at her, tea towel circling his hands like the first time he met Louis, his eyes wide with the right to help. Superhero Harry, always wanting to help.

 

“Give me your most sugary sweet, anything,” she demanded after the few seconds of curious stare down. Harry nodded, making his way behind the counter and unlocking the the doors to the sweets, his hands shaking with nerves, because _what if._

 

“Wh-what’s happening?” He asked, reading the sugar content on the back of each tray, his hands hovering over each sweet.

 

“Our bar tender fell unconscious, weird really, just fell,” and oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, he pinched himself with his free hand, he could’ve prevented this, but Louis hadn’t showed up to the coffee shop since well, yeah.

 

“It was Louis, yeah?” Harry said as casually as possible but his voice was wavering and he really hoped it wasn’t obvious as he went to the lower calorie pastries because he knew Louis wouldn’t eat anything else.

 

“Yeah. He’s an itty bitty, his tiny bones probably gave out on him,” and Harry felt his heart pumping out of his chest as she was as near to being right as everyone else probably theorized, but he didn’t dare tell.

 

“He’s a mate of mine,” and it stung, it stung like salt on a fresh wound,  “S’got low blood sugar,” Harry offered through a cracking voice, reciting the excuse Louis gave him once before, grabbing the lightest sweet he could find before handing it over to Stella. “Mind if I come, want to make sure he’s okay,” he said lightly, knowing Louis would probably hate him, hell, he already did hate him, but if giving him space meant letting him slowly die away, then he’d have to set some boundaries.

 

Stella nodded with a quick, “Yeah, yeah,” before hurrying back over to the nightclub, Harry directly next to her.

 

The club was near empty by now, two middle aged girls stayed, nursing licenses in their hands as they hurried over to Louis’s side. The sorority girl was sitting on a barstool, being interrogated by the manager. Adrian was still holding his head, a flannel set under Louis’s nose, blood stained red. The DJ was phoning an ambulance and it was all hectic for some short of ten people. The DJ walked over from his stand, shoving his phone into his pocket, “They’ll be here soon, who’s ridin’ with him,” and everyone stood silent because no one really knew Louis other than as a co-worker, Louis just filled everyone’s drinks and left it as that.

 

“He said he’s good friend’s with ‘em, didn’t ya?” Stella looked up at Harry and Harry ran cold but ever so reluctantly nodded.

 

“Then it’s settled,” the manager nodded to the group before turning his attention back to the girl.

 

The ambulance showed up a short time later, and Louis was hoisted up onto the stretcher, and it was enough to make Harry nauseous as his limp body was lifted with such ease, his head contorting back and his eyelids a tint of lavender. Harry was motioned to the back of the truck, the fluorescent lights making Louis look more ghostly than before. And Harry was the only one that noticed, because Harry was the only one that knew.

  
They started asking him questions, how long has he known Louis, has Louis ever had bad eating habits, how long had it been since the last time he’d seen Louis, how old was he, how old was Louis, so many questions that it was near invasive, and then he understood. This was how Louis felt Harry treated him. Invasive. Invasive because Harry knew what Louis didn’t want to know, and he couldn’t take it back. It was such a tidal wave, hitting him in one big blow that he didn’t realize Louis watching at him under heavy eyelids, a desperate, weak, need, etched under his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the shortened chapters, everything has been hectic lately. I'll try to extend my chapters but with the time allotted it's a bit difficult. I hope you all understand. (: Thank you all for reading, and commenting, and kudos, and sharing with your friends, and bookmarks, and whatever ya'll do because it means the world to me (:


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well stone me to death and exile me off this website. I've been crazy busy and this saturday class is more work than I thought. Unfortunately, what runs through Louis is based off what runs through me and my depression and such have left me no such motivation to write. I'm trying though, I wanna make you all who read this happy (: I'm sorry this took so long to update please don't hate me!

By the time Louis willed himself to let everyone know he was awake they were already at the hospital. His body was made of lead, he was sure, there was an elephant on his chest, only nobody could see it, he was crazy, but only he knew it. The second he opened his eyes fully they began interrogating him, but he couldn’t muster any energy to respond. He had to thank Harry later for answering the questions for him. 

Harry. Harry who didn’t leave his side until he had to, who stayed in pace with the stretcher without complaint, who didn’t flinch when they pressed needles into Louis’s hands, who didn’t protest when they forced him out of the patient room. And Louis still went hazy at the thought of him, still felt violated, for something that wasn’t Harry’s fault. A twist of fate that he didn’t even believe in. 

Louis was lucky he had enough willpower to protest when they started pulling his sleeves up, was lucky enough to come up with the excuse of “I get bad rashes to hospital air,” and have them believe it. With barely any protest at that, they just prodded at his hands, and yeah it hurt more but pain was never an issue to him. When they figured his blood sugar was when the interrogation began. 

“When did you last eat?”

“This is very low, not too good for your health.”

“You look a bit underweight, what’s your diet?”

“How happy are you on a scale of one to ten?”

“Do you eat normal meals?”

“Why do I feel like you’re lying?”

“Would you mind stepping on the scale for us?” 

Louis’s mind was rushing, trying to comprehend the questions and come up with a lie for each, his heart rate was moving at godspeed and he felt his hands start tremoring. He hadn’t had a full anxiety attack in a while, but that never meant he got any better. 

“Louis are you there?” 

“Why are you shaking?”

“Do you feel faint?”

“Let’s get you some food, okay?”

And it was all too much, all too loud. So he started screaming. Not that he had any control over it, but all of his nerves were kicked up to high power and he really couldn’t muster any way to release it, other than curling up in a ball and screaming bloody murder, which only made them louder, which only made his anxiety attack worse, which only made him start crying. When he ran out of breath the nurses moved in closer and his crying grew harder and he really really just wanted Harry and he wasn’t sure why. 

And like the saint Harry was, he came running through the doors at that moment, causing all of the nurses to back up, just as Louis needed. Louis’s brain went fuzzy and he could barely hear Harry explaining over the loudness of his brainwaves. The only words he heard were “anxiety,” “medicated,” and “sedation.” Which each sounded worse than the other. 

“Mr. Tomlinson, we’d think it best if we gave you a prescription for your anxiety. Okay?” The doctor asked, and Harry was trailing behind, his lips pressed into a straight line, his eyes just begging for Louis to agree. However, Louis had been on medications, it was like running on autopilot and screaming mute. It was putting the monster in a tighter cage but only making him angrier. 

“Too expensive,” he shook his head, which was, albeit, the truth, but it wasn’t the only truth. 

“Your health insurance should cover most, you’d only pay a small fee,” the nurse pressed, resting her hand on Louis’s knee and nearly falling when he moved it out from underneath her. 

Harry was staring, everything was silent, the interns were scratching their dried up ballpoint pens on their coffee stained clipboards, the nurse’s hair was out of place and the doctor’s shoe was untied. It was too odd, too eerie, too out of place. 

“I need to pay for my tuition, I don’t need medication, I’m fine. I just don’t like hospitals,” and Harry choked back a protest and Louis glared at him and it was all too little and all too much at the same time. The doctor went to speak but Louis cut him off, “I’m of age, I don’t need you parenting me and shoving pills down my throat because you think it’s for my benefit. Now if it wouldn’t be an issue, discharge me.” 

The doctor didn’t find much else to say, because Louis was refusing help and he was in fact of age, therefore his hand’s were seemingly tied. He went through his paperwork and nodded, signing off the discharge form and leaving Harry and Louis alone in the room and all Louis could think was why the hell Harry was there. 

So that’s what he said.   
“When you passed out someone came to my shop looking for sugary foods for you. No one else really knew you well enough to ride in the ambulance with you so I went. I didn’t tell them anything, honestly,” Harry’s face fell, his eyes were clouded with something hidden and it was the first time Louis noticed the white bakery bag in his hands. 

“I-okay-thanks,” Louis muttered because in all honesty he was too tired to put up a fight, he stared at the IV in his hand as a way of distraction, because Harry was still there physically and Harry was still very, very there metaphorically. 

Harry stayed silent and Louis stayed stiff and honestly Louis could probably cut the tension with a dull butter knife if he tried hard enough. There was too much left to be said that both were too scared to say. Like a barrier clutching at their throats, leaving all words desired to be swallowed whole. 

The nurse came in just as Louis was about to fall asleep, dragging the IV out of his hand and all technical words aside, set him free. Louis stood up quickly, instantly regretting it and held an iron grip on Harry, regretting that even more. He pulled his hand away as soon as he maintained his balance and pulled his phone out. 

“I’ll um, call Zayn, to pick us up,” Louis said weakly, paying attention to the screen too hard to notice Harry swallowing the words he was about to say. 

“‘lo?” Zayn answered after the eighth ring, which was unusual, and then Louis realized it was probably some god awful time in the morning and guilt washed over him. 

“Zayn, sorry mate, I didn’t mean to call this late,” Louis bit his lip, his mind boggling in protest of how much Zayn must hate him right now. 

Zayn yawned and Louis’s guilt fell like quicksand before Zayn spoke again, “No it’s no biggie, whadoya need,” he mumbled and Louis felt incredibly shitty, he was a terrible friend, but calling a cab cost money that neither of them had on them and well, desperate measures. 

“I’m at the hospital,” and Louis cut him off before he could say any more, “I’m fine, just dumb things, but I’ve got no means of getting back home.” He heard Zayn’s feet hitting the creaky floorboards and he heard the rustling of him throwing on his jacket and he heard the lock click and each sound was a reminder of how much he didn’t deserve friends like Zayn. And each light touch to his arm, each stifle and scratching of chin was another sound that added to why he didn’t deserve friends like Harry, either. 

“I’ll be there in five,” Zayn said before hanging up the phone, the last sound being the revving of the car engine before the line went dead. Louis looked up to Harry and sighed, he didn’t deserve friends like Harry, and Harry didn’t deserve a shitty friend like Louis. He needed to fix whatever mess he had dug them into.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry

By the time Zayn showed up everything was eerily, agonizingly silent. And the car ride went just as so. There was little small talk, Zayn thanking Harry and Louis explaining what happened. And then that was it. Zayn went back to listening to his urban metal that was blasting through his radio, and Harry was staring out his window, counting every street light. And Louis, Louis just stared at his lap, trying to untangle the knot in his mind that was Harryharryharry. 

Zayn apparently was too tired to pay mind to the fact that Harry was in need of a ride home as well, and didn’t really think twice as all three got out of the car in front of Louis and Zayn’s apartment complex. And rightfully so, Louis was pissed and most of all concerned but he was too weak, too tired to put up a fight. So, Louis went directly up the stairs, Harry and Zayn trailing back and speaking in hushes. Tiny whispers that Louis didn’t even consider worth anything. The only thing he realized were the eyes burning holes into his back as he stumbled his way up the stairs, white knuckling the railing. But he was just tired, honest. 

“Harry, just stay at my flat, okay?” 

Harry stared up at him, his eyes were wide and glossy with sleep and he looked like a deer in headlights. And it was cute, adorable rather, and so Louis looked away, because cute things didn’t fit well with Louis. 

When Louis closed the door of the flat behind him was when he felt the panic rush over him. Harry was in his flat. Alone. And now they really needed to sort things out because Louis wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up without suffocating in the comfort of his own home. Harry must of felt it too, the thick blanket of the unsaid draping over them so he walked over to the window, staring at the city lights around them. And Louis felt trapped between the door and the welcome mat because any move would bring attention to himself. He felt like it was a game of cat and mouse and Harry was winning. 

They stayed like that for another ten minutes, silent, choking on the air that seemed to cling to them, and then stupid Harry had to stupid break it with the stupid words of, “It’s a pretty view, innit?” and he was smiling and his teeth twinkled in the dark around them much like the city lights and yeah, that was pretty too. 

Louis only nodded though, plastering on a smile in return and walking to the bed, cautiously, half because he was still the prey and the other because his joints were aching far too much and he felt that any quick movement would send his bones falling apart like a broken machine. 

There was an inevitable doom that floated around them, an unavoidable conversation that both were still too hesitant to bring up. Louis just wanted to forget it all, forget all about what little he learned about Harry. Simply because Harry was so close to Louis, mentally and physically. And It was as if a there was an ongoing battle on which was worse. And Harry was the polar opposite. He only wanted Louis closer, but pulling at him was like tugging on a run in a sweater, the harder he pulled the bigger the mess he made. So, Harry walked on eggshells and Louis stayed caged as a victim of his own mind. Because its scary to push a boundary that already seems so fragile. 

So nearly as soon as Louis tucked himself away in the bed, staring silently as the moonlight cast over Harry’s face, he couldn’t help but let sleepiness dissipate the air between them. And the last words to dance over his ears, barely processed by his mind were “It means a lot to me that you let me stay the night.” and then all there was, was black. 

However, he woke up before the sun, a rather uncomfortable lump settling beside him in the too-tiny bed, causing him to grunt and shift himself to accommodate the extra person, not giving himself enough time to think it before falling back to sleep. 

The next time he woke up it was to small, barely audible snores that echoed in his ear. The sun barely illuminated the room, courtesy of Harry who must have shut the blinds tight, unaware that the sun was Louis’s only set alarm clock-most days. Today, it was a firm body pressed up beside him, cheek to neck and lips to jaw and in some context it could be arousing, maybe, but Louis figured it’s been 84 years since someone has turned him on and he constantly told himself to look into asexual reproduction. 

Shortly after his sleepy-thickness coursed through him, he realized it was Harry in his bed, not Zayn who regularly, drunkenly stumbled into his flat some nights. Yet, this was Harry who had his arms draped over Louis’s chest, his lips pressed to his jaw. And in some way, with image of Harry’s body, stretched by the black outfits he wore to work, it because slightly, slightly more arousing. And traumatic. 

So, Louis did the one thing he was best at, and that was push away. It was a failed attempt though, because Harry was double Louis’s size, of nothing but broad, chiseled muscle, and Louis was nothing but chubby and weak with achy joints and a dizzy mind. All it caused was for Harry to groan as Louis awkwardly shifted himself so he was facing Harry, using all fours to unlatch himself from Harry’s grip. 

“For fucks sake,” Louis muttered onto deaf, moreover sleep conscious ears, before giving up, falling limp in Harry’s grip and trying to ignore how his heart was racing. Harry took this time, however, to wake up, which was rather peaceful to watch, Louis assumed. It was twitchy eyes and licking dry lips and a half yawn that was swallowed before it made it’s way out. 

After what Louis assumed was Harry’s daily routine of waking up before actually opening his eyes he situated himself in a way where he could distance himself from Louis but still say impeccably close at the same time. 

“When did you lure me into your bed?” He smirked, and Louis really wanted to kick him in the shin, so he did, but he was pretty sure Harry didn’t notice. 

“Pretty sure you crawled your happy arse in here at some god-awful hour in the morning,” Louis muttered, his voice cracking with weakness. 

“Right,” Harry nodded, as if it had just hit him but Louis was pretty sure it didn’t, “I’m a really cuddly sleeper, when I’m lonely I just sleepwalk to somewhere else. Me mum used to find me in the strangest of places, pretty sure she caught me in the dryer when I was just a toddler.” He faced the ceiling, resting his hands on his chest and giving Louis the freedom to roll away, unintentionally, on the floor, followed by a thud and a muffled whimper. 

“Fuck, Lou! I’m sorry,” Harry gasped, and he was so fucking genuine it was painful. He maneuvered his way off the bed and over Louis to where he could kneel on his other side. 

“Guess I was closer to the edge of the bed than I thought,” Louis mumbled, pressing his hands to his mouth and biting his palms because he could feel the pain settling in his spine, that was soon to be shooting through his entire body once his nervous system woke up. Sure enough, it hit him when he stood up, the pain falling like gravity to his knees and making him collapse on the bed. Before Harry could ask Louis pointed to the tiny alcove in the single room, the bathroom, “Painkillers are in the medicine cabinet there.” Harry nodded before he could even think about it, bouncing off his heels to grab them. The painkillers, Louis told himself, were kept for strictly join pain only. And he, for the most part, did only use them for that. But there was always a lingering instinct that he could keep them there for something more. If and inevitably when it got bad enough, he knew where to find them. 

Harry came back in no time with a painkiller in palm and Louis really hated how nice Harry was being. He didn’t deserve nice, he didn’t need nice. He had himself and that’s all he could really hold on to, even if it was slipping past his fingers. So Harry handed him the pill and a cup of water and was all smiles and happiness and Louis really, really couldn’t take it. 

After he managed to situate himself up, leaning against his nightstand and curling his knees to his chest, he figured this was the beginning of the end. 

“Harry, you should leave, I do have work later and all,” Louis sighed, and he hoped it wasn’t obvious how he was proper lying through his teeth. And he wished it didn’t hurt as much as it did when he watched the glimmer in Harry’s eyes flash away like a burnt out lightbulb. 

“We should talk first,” was all Harry could say, looking at the door then back to Louis, sitting down across from him and crossing his legs.   
It was a way where even the way that he sat Louis found aesthetic. Where the display displays the being, Louis found that utterly true in every way Harry acted. Harry was so one with himself that it made Louis believe all of his words as genuine. And maybe in somewhere deep down, he knew that they were, but Louis kept that thought tucked into the back of his head. He realized then that he had no choice but to face Harry. 

Before Louis could really give any sign of approval, Harry was already talking. 

“Listen Louis, I didn’t know anything that I was talking to the same person in two different atmospheres. I just-I don’t know, I don’t know how I didn’t pick it up. I guess I’ve been too slight on coincidences. But I had no idea, I promise, I would never do anything like that to you. I would never intentionally hurt you or go back on your trust like that. I’m so sorry, okay. I just really miss whatever we had before this,” Harry recited as if he’d been planning what he was going to say since it happened. Louis wouldn’t put it past him if he did. 

Honestly, how could Louis stay mad at someone who was clearly innocent? He really wasn’t sure why he was taking his anger out on Harry in the first place, Harry shouldn’t be damned for what Louis brought on himself. It didn’t take much thought for Louis to see that, he only wished he did it sooner. It only took him so much thought to push his hand out and rest it on Harry’s knee, something he used to do to his sisters when they were visibly upset. 

“I forgive you, Haz, I really do,” he smiled weakly, dropping his hand as soon as he saw the spark in his eyes once more. And then it was silence, a calm, light silence enveloping the two. 

“So, Louis, it’s nice to officially meet you,” Harry grinned, a giggle underlying his tone and Louis could do nothing but smile back. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Harold,” he sighed, a weight being lifted off his shoulders because it was nothing but Louis and Harry at that moment.


End file.
